


Run

by makesometime



Category: Avatar (2009)
Genre: F/M, Resolved Sexual Tension, Self-Destruction, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-04
Updated: 2012-02-04
Packaged: 2017-11-06 19:50:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/422563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makesometime/pseuds/makesometime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's started to run and she's not sure she can stop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Run

The first time in a long time that she truly, completely, utterly down to her bones feels _free_ is the day she takes her first steps in her Avatar body. The cautious way she moves out of the compound and into the now-breathable atmosphere belies her excitement, her joy at finally getting out into the open air in the same way she used to be able to on Earth.

It's not long before her inquisitive nature gets the better of her and she hastens her pace, moving away from her babysitters and further into the wilderness on increasingly steady limbs. Before she's even aware of it she's running, sprinting, racing away from the compound as the Pandoran air burns her artificial lungs.

She goes further than she ever could in her real body, a fresh set of organs not yet damaged by age and addiction to all the wrong things allowing her to embrace the freedom this mission has given her. Allowing her to finally grasp its full potential. The euphoria that floods her body is intoxicating. She wants more, _needs_ more. 

Knows that, for now at least, she can't have it. Not until the trust of the Omaticaya has been won and the initial damage of RDA undone.

The desire to match the joy of that moment shadows her for weeks. She starts taking stupid risks, slipping out into the jungle without telling anyone, leaving the safe perimeter and just standing, waiting for something that never arrives. When she heads back to the compound no one ever says anything. 

She thinks perhaps she needs someone to say no to her.

She's started to run and she's not sure she can stop.

#

Her behaviour is erratic for months, all through the construction of the Avatar compound and the initial explorations into Omaticaya territory. She's very good at hiding it behind a mixture of grumbling irritation when human and optimistic curiosity when masquerading as a Na'vi, but she herself can see it clear as day.

She becomes aware of eyes on her during one of the first meetings of the Na'vi children and their Avatar teachers. It's a tense affair - it always would be - but its tension is exacerbated by the presence of six heavily armed members of the RDA security forces standing at the back of the schoolroom the entire time. 

She doesn't think too much of the eyes at first – she's used to being stared at in this form, especially by the Marines. Their natural interest combined with a suspicion of those different to themselves can only make her fascinating.

But there's something different to this gaze. It feels almost... heavy. Judging. It makes her uncomfortable enough to stumble over her Na'vi, but the Omaticaya chaperones seem to find this endearing so at least it doesn't detract from her overall efforts. Once the children are dismissed she allows herself to locate the source, finds her eyes drawn to one Colonel Miles Quaritch, newly-appointed head of security. 

His oxygen mask does nothing to dull the brightness of his ice blue eyes, nor the way they challenge, goad. The way they tell her that he has her made, knows her thoughts, sees her inner turmoil. 

What they don't tell her – what she thinks they never will – is what he plans on doing about it.

#

He's there when she gets out of the pod one day, leant up against the adjacent one with his leg bent and braced against the side, (impressive) arms crossed over his chest. The scars on his head and arms are finally starting to heal, lending him an oddly sinister air.

She likes scars. An outward representation of inner turmoil. She has no scars; perhaps she needs them.

"Colonel." She greets quietly, taking the lab coat and cigarette from her terrified lackey.

"That'll kill you." He says, before turning and walking away, leaving her to wonder if he means the cigarette.

She suspects he doesn't.

#

His warning stays with her. Nags at her. Every damn time she gets into that pod and wakes up in her giant blue body.

The body is fraudulent, as are her moods, her projection of her mental state. She really wonders why no one else can see it – if they are being purposely obtuse or if a fear of the great Grace Augustine stops them from speaking out of turn.

And it's only getting worse.

She loves the children, loves being around them and sharing in their joy of discovery. It reminds her of a simpler time. But that doesn't change the fact that afterwards, once they're back with their clan, she will slip away, explore the jungle without so much as a thought for military escort.

#

One such afternoon (evening, it's evening, the sun is going down, the creatures will be coming out soon and she shouldn't be here) Grace is trekking through the undergrowth, miles from the compound. Her comm device hasn't even flickered once – no one cares.

No one cares.

The thought should concern her, should stop her in her tracks. Instead it barely registers in her messed-up, twisted brain. 

She hears the approaching noise for a long time before she can place it. It is unusual, so very incongruous in this completely alien environment that it gives her pause. She has catalogued the sounds of this moon in minute detail but this new one is totally unfamiliar to her.

She turns towards the sound of the approaching company she's now far too late to do anything about and finds one of the new AMP suits pushing its way past vines and tree branches, striding unimpeded through tall natural flora. Crushing it beneath huge metallic feet without concern (she should care, she _should_ ). Looking up into the cockpit she sees Quaritch staring down at her.

She feels small. 

It is a startling realisation.

She has successfully skirted the edge of death at the hands of the native wildlife a hundred times since she got this body. Heard – but never set eyes on – the viperwolves, the titanothere. The monsters that gave Quaritch his scars and have yet to bring out hers.

But it is now that she feels insignificant. Looking up at the metal structure, prototype or not, is as intimidating as the fire in the Colonel's eyes. The silent rage.

An arm of the AMP lifts, points back the way it has come. It is a command that she will not disobey, her swirling, confused, thoughts unable to rage at the display of dominance.

He follows her back to the Avatar compound, several steps behind at all times, then stalks off back to the barracks once she is safely inside.

As she lays her weary body down, the all-too-human side of her is scared of what she's going to wake up to.

Scared. And a little bit fascinated.

#

He's not waiting for her this time. 

She tells herself she isn't disappointed as she collects her things and stalks down the hall back to her quarters. Her path takes her through the military barracks and she's so caught up in her inner thoughts that she doesn't even notice a door opening beyond her until a hand snakes out, grabs her wrist and forces her through into the room beyond.

She finds herself pinned up against the metal door before she can even take another breath, chest tight with anxiety and surprise. Looks into those damn blue eyes once more, on her level this time, just as challenging.

"What the _fuck_ are you doing, Augustine?" He hisses at her and she can see something else, something _other_ in his eyes, behind the rage and disappointment.

"What do you care?" She retorts, steadfastly ignoring the heat of his body so near to hers.

"I don't. But I see someone destructing in front of my eyes and want to do something about it, before they bring the security of this entire goddamn place to its knees." He says, and she almost believes him. "You get yourself killed out there you know who's going to get blamed? It won't be your little science pukes, it'll be me. The millions they've invested in you will be on _my_ head."

"Your concern is touching, Colonel." She responds, her voice stronger than it has any right to be.

His fist slams hard on the metal beside her head and she jumps. "Don't play with me Doc. You won't like what you find."

"I thought we'd established I'm not exactly doing what's expected of me right now?" She says.

He tips his head to the side, re-evaluating, re-forming the battle strategy in his head. 

She feels like a damn open book under his gaze, easily read. It's a new and unsettling sensation for someone so used to being aloof. A slow smirk tugs at his lips and she wonders what her story is.

He doesn't leave her waiting long, settles his weight more firmly against her, raises an eyebrow at her sharp intake of breath. "What'll it take to bring you round to my way of thinking, Doc?"

She could fight this. Could shove him away, tell him he's a pig, leave for her own quarters and forget this ever happened. But her better sense is shouting at her; this could be the right thing. What she needs. A controlling force in her twisted life.

He's offering, so shouldn't she just take him up on it?

She shifts her weight, lifts a leg to hook around his thigh and hold him to her. "I'm sure you know a way, Colonel."

#

It's quick, sharp, a little painful. His hips move with force, control, purpose. The material of his fatigues scratches against her thighs as he enters her over and over and over, the itching pain only heightening her pleasure.

His hands hold her up, hard on her skin, as her own struggle for purchase on the plain walls of his quarters. She finds a handhold on the metal cabinet beside the door and uses her other to clutch at his arms, his shoulders, digging nails into firm muscles. 

They don't kiss – an affection too far, she thinks – but his mouth is busy, biting, sucking, licking against her neck, the curve of her shoulder, the line of her collarbone. Hers is too busy gasping in air to reciprocate, alternately biting her lip to hold in the noises of pleasure she feels building in her throat.

She's never been more pleased that RDA spent money on this place, built it properly, as her body shudders up against the solid door behind her. The last thing she needs is to walk out of her to an appreciative audience.

He comes first, letting out a long groan into her hair. She thinks that he's going to leave her unsatisfied, is preparing some colourful retribution for the liberty when his hand leaves her ass, slips between them and rubs hard at her clit until she shouts, pulsing around him, drawing out his own pleasure.

He lets her down without preamble, fastens his pants as she's still trying to find her feet. When she's just about managed to breath again he hands her a damp cloth and she tries not to read anything like kindness or warmth in the gesture.

"Have I convinced you?" He asks once she's dressed, her hand resting on the door handle (knowing she's not welcome to linger).

She grins. "I'm stubborn to a fault, Colonel. Might take a bit more than a quick screw up against a door."

He smiles at this too, a genuine one that shoots straight through her (she hopes he doesn't know how powerful a weapon _that_ is). "I look forward to the challenge."


End file.
